We played together
when I was too young to remember.
You fed and clothed me,
not that you had a choice.
You were my parents
before I knew I was missing one.
You held me when I cried
and brushed my tangled hair.

We played together,
running around outside,
eating inedible things,
dancing in the rain.

We fought each other.
I was the smallest,
but you made me feel taller.
I was the traffic cop
when I was too little to ride a bike.

We fought each other.
I cried when you played without me.
I cried when you knocked over my castles,
but you always helped me rebuild them.

We cried together.
We felt each other's pain
and spoke with silence
when words were not enough.

We fought each other.
I was too little to understand, you said.
We kicked and hit each other.
I said I'd tell. I never did.

We played together,
even when the others stopped playing.
Even when they left and didn't come back.
You made me laugh so I forgot.

We played together
until one day, we stopped.
We didn't want to play,
not even for a little while.

We still fought each other.
We ignored each other
until we got lonely
and forgot to stay mad.

We still cried together
when we could hear screaming
and yelling through the walls.

We still had each other,
until we didn't.
You didn't want to fight or cry
with me anymore.

We don't play together.
I sit alone and wonder
about the fun
you guys have together.

We don't fight each other,
but my mind is always at war.

We don't cry together.
I sit and I cry alone.
But sometimes, I remember
that we played together.